Encounters Of A Different Kind
by Smidgie
Summary: Holly is angry. And Artemis is hurting. Break ups are never nice things, but unlike most couples, Holly and Artemis turn their bitter hearts and minds to the creation of a tragedy. A/H, violence, cursing, etc. Second drabble now up.
1. Encounter

For everyone who likes my usual style, you'll probably hate this. It's nasty, gritty, and downright OOC. But for such an explosive and occasionally violent relationship as Artemis and Holly's, surely they wouldn't have a nice, normal break up and remain good friends afterwards. But what can I say?

You'll just have to decide for yourself. - Smidgie

**Disclaimer:** Eoin Colfer + Artemis Fowl ownership. Me + Artemis Fowl drabbles.

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Here, again?

Well, you know I'm always one for a challenge, Artemis. And I really don't mind that you want to play this game again. Just let me take off my wings, Foaly will kill me if I bring them back all dented like last time.

So how's your trophy wife? I hear she's pregnant again. That would be your fifth brat by now, wouldn't it? Yes, I'll take off my shoes before I step onto the carpet. Wouldn't want the wife to notice the mud stains, would we, Mud Boy?

Oh, you don't like that nickname, you never did. Still, I'm not the one who beats up women, am I? All that repressed anger of yours, Artemis, have you considered therapy? Perhaps there's some insane doctor out there who can shrink even you down to size – _reduce you to a set of values_, isn't that what you said? Make you as small as me?

Artemis, by the gods. You threw a decent punch. Finally, it's only been thirty years since we've met.

You still fight like an old woman. Come on, Artemis, I'm a hundred-odd and I'm still quicker than you. Is your arthritis playing up again?

No, I don't know why I'm here. Do you know why you're here, what you get out of beating me up aside from whatever sick kicks you always used to get from my pain? I remember that cell, you know. I remember everything.

Does your wife know you're with me? Admit it, you put more passion into hurting me than you do screwing her. I bet you don't even touch her aside from to give her more children to keep her busy and distracted so you can do what you like.

I bet you touch me more than you touch her. I bet your sex life is practically non-existent. Well, ours wasn't. Do you remember back then, Artemis? Do you remember screwing me on top of your father's desk in his study?

You had passion then. Where did it go? Did the trophy wife steal it all away with her boring bedroom behaviour?

Come on, hit me again, you bastard.

I'd rather you break my bones than my heart. But you couldn't even do that. You hate it that I've moved on and you can't.

Bye, Artemis. Gotta fly.

Maybe next time you'll actually have the balls to kill me.

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Please review!


	2. The Flip Side

Written in the same style as 'Encounters'. Artemis strikes back. This isn't exactly the same scenario as the one in the previous drabble, but they're linked. And Artemis is very, very OOC. Think Hannibal Lecter cross Lestat de Lioncourt, and that's kind of like Artemis' mental state in this.

Thanks to scatty mb, ilex-ferox, AiEdogawaIsaBellaCullen, saturnz-moonlit-beauty, Opal Roseblossom, Buchworm13, and fruitulati for their reviews. :)

**Disclaimer:** Eoin Colfer plus Artemis Fowl equals ownership. Me plus Artemis Fowl equals drabbles.

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Oh, so it's you.

But that's a rather redundant statement, isn't it? Who else would be here at my third storey window in the dead of night? Feel free to come in; you know your invitation stands for any time. Even two a.m.

You look lovely, by the way. Have you done something different with your hair? Really, darling, that swing at me was entirely unnecessary. You're always so violent when we're together, I can't think why.

I don't see why you need to make this all about me, my dear. I will freely admit, I enjoy our time together, but you are the one that keeps coming back for more. But don't fret, dear one. I don't mind.

How are affairs in the Lower Elements? I understand you've been promoted. To Major, isn't it? That must rankle you; I know you don't like paperwork. Still, Holly, when you sleep with the boss, what else do you expect? Demotion?

So you've been taking care of yourself, then, my darling? You know I hate to think of you in trouble in any way… you're a little slow tonight, I wonder why. You're not pregnant, are you?

Ah, that livened you up a bit. I shouldn't torture you with that, should I? Lets talk about something a little more neutral… my wife is pregnant again, my dear. Isn't it wonderful news?

Oh, my dear, I wish you would let your eyes fill with tears when I hurt you like this. It's the reason I do it, you know. But you fasten your pretty little hands as far as you can around my throat instead. I wish you wouldn't do that, too.

But I wish a lot of things.

I wish you wouldn't try to torment me about what once happened between us, Holly. It has such an irritating habit of working, and leaving me in a rather heightened state for hours after you leave as I consider everything that once occurred.

Yes, regardless of whatever has occurred, my dear, I still remember everything that happened between us. You needn't smile like that, Holly, I don't like to see you smile. Yes, that grimace of pain is much better. I remember that too. You have no idea how, sometimes, I wish I didn't remember. But wishes are like ghosts, aren't they, Holly, just as insubstantial and hollow as phantoms in the night? You taught me that.

You taught me that all those nights when I waited for you under the oak tree, by the bend in the river, and you never came.

So forgive me, my darling, if occasionally I simply have to beat you until you can barely breathe.

Don't deprive me of the only opportunity I have to touch you.

Same time next week?

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Please review.


	3. Summation

Hello again, everyone! I've said to myself about twenty different times that I'm not going to expand this fic any more; that it can stay exactly the way it is. But after much deliberation I've decided to expand _Encounters Of A Different Kind_… again. So here's the last instalment. (I hope.)

Also, thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, in particular winged-silhouette hopelily, and MajorSamanthaCarter, who reviewed the last chapter-drabble-thingie.

**Disclaimer: **Eoin Colfer plus Artemis Fowl equals ownership. Me plus Artemis Fowl equals drabbles.

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Ravaged and raw, she slides down against the door to draw her knees up to her chest, and weeps. She is aware that on the other side of the door, he is doing the same.

How they got into this situation, she cannot comprehend, cannot understand. They had been enemies, good enemies, and then after they had been better friends. Even better lovers. But friends came first and oh, gods, she never should have kissed him, but she had been drunk on magic and relief that he was alive and that kiss really was what ended everything, after all.

He had lied, but she is not one to harbour a grudge for too long, and so she had forgiven him and as it had turned out, his elf-kissing days had not been over after all. They had kissed again a year after the time paradox incident, when all the throb had gone out of the wounds they had inflicted on one another, and they had been lovers before he turned eighteen. it had been lightning and midsummer storms and all the good things in her life mixed in with the bad. She had been head over heels, and he the same, and nothing else had mattered. But like all things, it had come to an end.

She cannot remember what the fight was about; it had been something minor and trivial and stupid but she had stormed out, swearing never to return. She had not been in the Lower Elements an hour before regretting her haste, but her pride would not let her return to him.

The news of his wedding two months later chilled her to the core. She had not been told, not been invited, and she had realised that she had lost him.

She had slept with her boss the same night, and through the passion and the pleasure that was not forbidden and not illicit and not as _hot _as it was with Artemis, she had imagined that is was her Mud Man's hands on her skin.

But she had had only herself to blame. She had ignored his calls, refused to listen to the messages he left, which grew increasingly infrequent. Until one day she had found herself standing at his study window, tapping on the glass, and he had greeted her with a roundhouse punch to the jaw.

And so it had begun, their curious relationship of hit and slap and _oh gods, Holly, don't stop don't stop I'll die if you stop_ on the nights they manage to stop hitting and start kissing. Their affection for one another will never be called love, but neither can it be called hate; it sits tentatively on the fence between these two extremes and they do not think about it too often when they are together.

So they bite and pick and snap at one another until they have no flesh left to claw off each other's bones. And every time it happens he wonders for weeks whether he's hurt her enough to make her come back, and every time it happens she wonders for weeks whether he's been satisfied enough to open that window the next time she raps on the glass.

She curls against the door, eyes wide and unblinking in the gloom. She is inside his study, and he outside; the rest of the Manor is deadly silent, but she cannot care any longer about the trophy wife and the five little children who are blameless in themselves, the children she hates because they are his and not hers. They are no longer hers to be concerned with; rather, this last fight, reducing them both to tears on opposite sides of the issue, will be the end of the ending.

For she cannot go on like this, cannot exist in this state of flux any longer. But she sees no other way. She would rather be beaten half to death by him than live without him; yet, if his sobs are any indication, perhaps he is willing to make amends. But can she trust him? They are too volatile together, fire and water; an old cliché, but it is cliché purely because of its veracity. The old wounds sting anew, like the bloody gouges on her back and the sunrise around her left eye, but she loves him, is enslaved by him, and she will not let him cry alone.

She pulls open the door and he, startled, stares up at her, mismatched eyes blinking in the sudden light. The tear streaks on his face are the only indication of his misery; he is deathly pale, whereas she is red and blotchy. Without a word, for the only words they have left to them are lies, she curls into his lap, his head cradled on her shoulder, his lips on her throat.

And they cry together, for her bruises and his heartache, her scars and his tears, her grief and his loss. For his lies and her denial, his anger and her scorn, his coldness and her indifference.

But most of all they cry for them; for the winters and the summers spent apart, the nights and the days; they weep for everything they have lost, and for everything they have left.

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